Trust Inc
by Madi Holmes
Summary: Hodgins snaps. Sweets picks up the pieces. Please R/R
1. Chapter 1

Trust Incorporated

by: Madi Holmes

Disclaimer: Bones is not owned by me.

The coffee was cold.

Fitting, he knew. To find the pot unplugged, the coffee grossly tepid.

It was too much.

All so very much.

He threw the pot, coffee and all, across the room, watching it explode against the wall, a bomb of glass shards and brown liquid. Too familiar of an image, he realized, his stomach bottoming out.

"Dude, not cool."

Startled, Hodgins looked left, then right. Sweets stood five feet away, by the door, a handy escape route if he snapped further. "Don't even start with me."

"Now's the perfect time, I think." Sweets replied, shifting his body position to that of comfort, of empathy. An old psychology trick. "You should have come to me to talk. Long, long ago."

"I have no issues. I am issue-less. Now I have particles to particulate and bugs to dissect. Don't you have a Gameboy to go play with? You obviously don't have a girlfriend." Hodgins replied, trying to escape.

"Nor do you, apparently." Active aggression tactic.

"Don't even start with me. You told Cam to violate Woman Code and blab her big, fat mouth to kingdom come, and look what happened. You might have two doctorates, but zero woman experience. Why she even asked a twenty-two year old virgin about a thirty-five year old woman's sex problem is way beyond me. Rule number one with them: 'Never tell your friend that you slept with her ex.' That's like imprinted from birth."

"I know that you're angry." Sweets replied, closing the door.

"Angry? You don't know how angry I can get. This, to me, is like a 3." Hodgins replied, seeing nameless people in lab coats through the windows stop to stare quickly, at him, then move on. "I get more angry when the paper is fifteen minutes late in the morning."

"The coffee pot says otherwise."

"Coffee pots don't say anything. They're coffee pots."

"Yes, Zach would say something like that."

"DON'T BRING HIM INTO THIS!" Hodgins seethed.

"But that's why you threw it. You're not only angry, you're scared and betrayed and hurt. I saw you when you did it. It totally reminded you of him. That same flash of panic in your eyes when the urn exploded. Let me guess, the coffee splashed red for a second. You saw him there, on the ground, bleeding, his hands and fingers butchered to metacarpal bone and muscle. The exact same scene you see every single day at your job with dozens of other skeletons and bodies, only this was Zach, your adopted little brother, and now you can't get it out of your head." Sweets went on, closing each blind slowly, methodically, shutting the world out. "Over and over it plays. Angela was no help, was she? The first time you really needed her support, she bolts and says that you can't trust her." Zip. "Brennan and Booth had their own issues about death and betrayal and clowns, and Cam is now in No-Man's-Land. So, now, you have no one." Zip. "You are all alone in this big, bad world outside of your bugs and particulates and mold. And this isn't the first time, is it? All of the anger and desperation and problems with Angela all stem from the fact that your trust has, once again, been stomped flat like Doc Marten boots on a cockroach." The last slats shushed closed, leaving the two men alone. The world no longer existed.

Hodgins felt his eyes grow red, his emotions roiling.

"Clarissa did the same thing. She betrayed you. Your trust and your love. And you panicked and thought Angela would do the same thing with Greyson. Zach didn't trust you enough to come to you when he was first abducted. For months on end, he was a zombie. And then he brought in that skull and boiled it. In your own house. And you couldn't even save him, didn't even notice him changing. I heard that you tried to silence him. You figured it out and thought you could protect him. Forever and ever. And then you couldn't. You felt like you betrayed him."

Hodgins slumped into a chair, everything washing out.

"And then there are your parents." Sweets said quietly.

"Don't. Just don't." Colors dissolved into grey. His vision flattening.

"The ultimate act of betrayal. All of that money and power and connections and the big, bad ass Cantilever Group, and they did that. You don't just hide your background, you actively run from it. Because it directly comes from them. You don't trust your intermediate family and you sure as hell don't trust your extended family. It's no wonder Angela says that you don't trust her. You've never once had anyone that you could trust."

"I can't do this anymore."

"What is that?"

"Anything."

"You will. In time. You're a survivor."

"I don't want to be one anymore."

"Doesn't work like that. You and Angela have a lot of issues to work out. She's no saint in this situation. It will take time, but you have to heal first before you can move on with her."

"I'm not going into therapy with a snotnosed twenty-two year old punk."

"You don't understand, Jack." Sweets kneeled down, making Hodgins look him directly in the eyes. "You already are."


	2. Chapter 2

"I want you to take some time off. I know that everyone in the lab is a workaholic to where it's become a pissing contest, but you need time away from everything."

"I'm sorry, were you saying something?"Hodgins toed a mushroom cluster growing along the park trail. "I was cataloguing insects. So far, I've seen four beetles, three ants, and five different fly species crawling along the sidewalk. Oh, and that kid over there has eaten about three Lumbricidus terresti in the past five minutes." Hodgins pointed to a four year old boy digging in the dirt with a pail and shovel. He slurped down another earthworm like spaghetti while his mother flirted with a nanny on a bench. "Creepy little entomaphagist."

"I bet you did the same thing at that age. Only without the eating part."

"No, I wasn't allowed to get dirty. It didn't bother me much. I got into insects later on in college." Hodgins continued down the path, logging different flora and fauna as Sweets followed beside. "I had a normal childhood. Latin lessons at the age of three, piano lessons at six for three weeks. Traveled the world in a Winnebago at seven. My parents could never decide if we were rich or middle class."

"Miss them much?"

"As much as anyone else. Why are we doing this here? I thought I was allowed confidentiality and a leather couch." Hodgins stated, hitching his sweater sleeves up to his elbows.

"Deflection," Sweets responded automatically. "Won't work. We're here because you'd be more uncomfortable in my office or the break room or even your own house. I needed neutral place that would give you enough external stimulus to allow you to focus internally. Hence the park and the worm eating kids."

"Isn't telling me like explaining a magic trick."

Sweets shrugged. "You wanted to know. We don't have to go into your childhood now. You have more pressing matters to deal with than thirty year old memories that you barely remember."

"I always thought shrinks liked to start from the beginning: it's always the parents' fault and all that."

"Not everyone's father is Darth Vader."

"Dude, what is with you and Star Wars?"

"I'll tell you later some time. Now about what's been going on."

"You still have Yoda bedsheets, don't you?"

"Neither here nor there, Jack."

"Yeah, my name is Hodgins."

"So about Zach and Angela. Total bummer."

"Will you stop bringing them up at random times?"

"I heard she's not taking your calls anymore. Too many 2 AM drunk dialings?"

"No, that's Zach. I call him every night at 2:15 on the dot after getting bombed on tequila that's worth more than your college loans. We talk for hours on end about things. Like why you constantly reference Star Wars."

"Do you two ever talk about why he did what he did. And why you didn't see it. "

Hodgins stopped walking. I don't want to do this here."

"Gotta do it sometime. Hate to see you bunking with Zach."

Hodgins drew into himself, picking strings from his shirt. "I see him about once a week. Tell him the latest lab gossip. Ask him technical questions about different cases."

"That seriously constitutes a serious breach of confidentiality."

"Gonna rat me out?" Jack dared. " It's not like I actually need my paycheck. I mostly donate it to Star Wars Anonymous meetings."

"Okay, now I gotta ask. What's up with you ragging me about Star Wars?"

"So I talk to Zach about things. He's doing really good. I make sure that he's treated well and doesn't get too bored. I do have limits on how much I can do, but I've managed to push it a few times. The mentos water balloon fight was classic. Right up until his gloves got soaked and I had to get him a new pair immediately. He kinda flipped a little over it. Well, flipped out for Zach."

"You're going to get in serious trouble."

"I just don't care anymore."

"About what?"

"Angela, Zach. Bugs. Dirt. Slime. Mold. Conspiracy theories. Granted, I've been slowly losing interest in those for a while now."

"Yeah, I heard it was about when you started dating Angela. Girls will do that to a guy. Granted, it's also hard to retain an interest in something when it literally slaps you in the face."

"Zach only punched me the one time. But I pretty much pushed him into it. It was awesome."

"Not Zach. The whole Gormogan psycho going after orphans in secret societies. It must have been really hard being Suspect Number One. You were very close to becoming a person of interest. I was surprised that you weren't taken in for questioning. I actually recommended it."

"Yeah, well, I totally believed you were the apprentice up until the boiling thing. No way would I have let you near my house."

Sweets shrugged, "I never would have thought about something like the lead content in water. But I would have figured out something. Siphoned water from Zach's blue water bottle, for starters. The one that nobody else could touch and that he used to cook his macaroni and cheese in every lunch. He is a very interesting subject: he could drink tap water, but only with certain provisos."

"He's not a lab rat. Quit talking about him like he is. He's a human being."

"Yes, one that royally fucked up his life. And where were you during all of this?"

"I was."

"Go on."

"I don't remember."

"Sure you do. What have you been obsessed with for the past six months? While Zach was going nuts with boiling bones and stealing bones and killing a lobbyist and suffering from god knows what happened in Iraq? Where were you when he was slowly going nuts and needed you?"

"I was with Angela." Hodgins said into his scarf, watching carpenter ants scurry about the ground carrying flakes of potato chips off toward a dying tree. "Trying to get married."

"You were so preoccupied with Angela's marital status that you didn't see Zach self destructing. And now you blame yourself for that. But it's not your fault. Zach is a grown man and made his own decision no matter how brain washed he was. You have to let that anger and pain and self recrimination go before it eats you alive."

"That's all?"

"No, this is just the beginning. The kind of therapy you need takes a lot of time and effort. Booth needed what? Two sessions to deal with his weird clown thing? One and a half to deal with Dr. Brennan not going with Agent Sullivan? Granted, I've been working with them off and on for about seven months, but their needs are mostly superficial so far.

"Jack Hodgins is trying to get his life back after a really nasty betrayal by his best friend and a very bad break up with his fiancee. No easy task to overcome alone. You need to deal with your feelings toward Angela, and the trust is only part of it. You two got so wrapped up over who doesn't trust whom that you never realized that the fight was actually you being unable to get over Zach."

"That's so not true. We were awesome right up until she actually became available. Then she pulls this trust thing out and next thing I know, I'm crying into a piece of pie."

"Once the ink dried on the divorce papers, why didn't you sweep Angela onto the nearest Rent-A-Jet and head to Cabo for that wedding? Booth and Brennan were in London. And Cam was definitely in no position to stop the two of you."

"I wanted things to be perfect for her."

"Which is never attainable. Why didn't you stop her in that diner?"

"She would have hated me even more. It took everything in my body to let her go. It's what she always wanted."

"You can't use Police songs to figure out what someone wants or doesn't want. The fact is, you need to give yourself some time to overcome the past year. You're angry, and all of the anger first directed onto Greyson switched over to Cam then went straight onto Angela. And here's the thing. You weren't even that angry at Greyson to begin with. Or at Angela being married. The anger was always there, you just couldn't never realize why you were that way."

"So you're saying that I'm actually angry at Zach and I just transfer it to whoever is the closest person?"

"Hell, yeah!" Sweets grinned. "It's like a multiple choice answer from my psych 101 class, but in this case, it fits. You said so yourself. Your general personality is prone to crankiness, but this goes beyond that. You have massive anger issues, and rightly so at that. But that doesn't mean you shouldn't get help for it. What Zach did to you was terrible, but he did try to save you in the end."

"You know what, 'Lance?'" Hodgins asked.

"What?"

"You are so full of it." Hodgins replied, storming away back toward the Jeffersonian He got halfway down the block as a teenager on a bike cut him off. "I don't need a vacation, and I don't need help!" He yelled back at Sweets.

Sweets stood there, watching the green-orange leaves blow in the early autumn wind as his friend stomped around a corner and disappeared from sight. "Definitely a cry for help," he replied.


	3. Chapter 3

(quick authorial note: I'm trying to keep the story open to future scenes from the show. Funny how I managed call the whole Hodgins-Sweets dynamic in the last ep)

They would have to go and completely negate my last chapter :P

Chapter Three (rewrite)

"Let's talk about Zach."

"We always talk about Zach," Hodgins stared up at the ceiling, wondering why white popcorn was still available as a valid architectural design choice. "Could we not talk about him."

"Would you prefer to talk about Angela?"

"No." He was on a leather couch, god help him, already feeling his palms go sticky with sweat. He tried wiping them off on his jeans, the moisture seeped into the denim and mix with ground-in soil particulates. The harder he wiped, the grimier his hands felt.

"Your parents?" Sweets relaxed back in his leather chair, his feet propped up. He supported his patient notebook atop his lap, doodling along the margins, filling in closed letters, turning various ones into dinos and spacemen. It was a bad habit, he was an adult now, but he couldn't stop inking.

Hodgins was in hell. "Jesus, no." Definitely governmental lowest-bid building contract ceilings, he decided. Dusty remnants of A. tepidariorum webs dangled down from the chunked out ceiling. Impossible to clean, impossible to ignore. It grossed Hodgins out slightly. He was definitely a bug man, but spiders always gave him pause.

"Then what would you like to talk about?"

"Beets... Bears... Battlestar Galactica." Maybe Sweets got the bad psych department office- high man on the totem poll and all that. Still better than his own space, though. The unmistakable odor of crushed bone matter, dusty cardboard, mold, and volatile chemicals used to make him feel at home. Now it just reminded him of everything else.

"Cute pop culture reference."

"Not as good as Killer Tofu." Hodgins chuckled.

"You're deflecting again. You do it when dealing with stressful issues. I used to let you slide on it, but it's become more prevalent."

"Dude, I do not deflect," Hodgins frowned.

"Yes, I noticed that as well. The deflection seems to be new like the anger."

"So it's just another coping technique?"

"Not this time." Sweets answered. "With the anger, you're at least acknowledging those that hurt you and dealing with it. By deflecting, you've gone back to ignoring and repressing."

"I didn't know that there was a right way and a wrong way in dealing with a failed engagement and a failed friendship."

"You think you failed Zach?"

"We all did."

"But you especially."

"He was my best friend."

"Not anymore?"

"Hard to be friends with someone on a thorazine drip."

"Are you still seeing him once a week?"

"Yes."

"And have you told him about you and Angela?"

"He already knew."

"How?"

"I don't know. One day, I showed up with some things, and he said that he was sorry."

"He says that a lot."

"You've seen him?" Hodgins lifted his head.

"I've been keeping apprised of his situation, yes. Do you know how he knew you and Angela broke up?"

"I figured that Dr. Brennan or Angela told him."

"He explained that he could see it in your face."

"What?"

"Hold on." Sweets flipped upside down on the chair, and pulled at his bookbag. He unzipped it, took out a different notebook, and righted himself. "His exact words were, 'Dr. Hodgins came in one day, and his mood was remarkably somber. I asked what was wrong, and he said nothing. It was then that I knew that Angela and him were no longer together. It was one of the few times I was able to "read" someone'"

"He read me?"

"Yes, I found it quite remarkable. Zach has never been the most intuitive of people."

"Cacti are more intuitive than Zach is."

Sweets laughed then lowered his voice to a chuckle as Hodgins glared at him. "It is a very big step for him. He is empathizing with you and exhibiting real sadness at your plight that is outside of his own knowledge or experience. He is aware that you are having trouble with all of this, and wonders if he should cut off all contact with you."

"I wouldn't let him."

"I told him that he needed more social contact outside of the hospital, not less. That your visits were positive influences in his life."

"Wait. Why are you telling me all of this? Doesn't this follow under patient confidentiality?"

"He signed a medical access waiver for you for certain situations and his mother co-signed. She explained that she wanted you to be a local contact for her if anything happens."

"I've never even met her."

"Zach asked her to do it."

"Oh."

"Now about Star Wars."

"What?"

"I asked you last week why you kept ripping on me about Star Wars. You never answered, so I knew that it was important."

Hodgins lay there, picking at buttons on the couch. "When Zach was first, you know."

"Yes?"

"You made a joke about the Sith- Master and Apprentice, and all that Star Wars shit."

"Yes, it was an analogy."

"Yeah, well, it sucked."

"How so?"

"I was in shock." Hodgins's voice dulled. "We all were. And then you waltzed in with your cheesy social science degree and too large teeth, and completely dismissed the entire situation with a Scifi movie. And not even one of the good ones. It made me angry."

"Because-"

"Because Zach is NOT a bad plotline. He's my best friend, and I found the analogy to be HIGHLY unprofessional. He killed someone. He was sick and delusional and traumatized, and god knows what else. And you just threw it out there like- like. I can't find the words."

"Then I'm sorry. You're right. It was unprofessional. I find that I often use pop culture as a stress reliever. A way to blow off steam."

"Well, don't. Get a rubber band or something."

"I'll work on that." Sweets acknowledged.

Hodgins sat there, laid there, realizing that there was nothing else to say. He felt drained, emotionally, physically, every adverbially way possible.

"Jack?" Sweets said.

"I feel better." Hodgins replied, his body drifting on the couch.

"How so?"

"I don't know. I just do."

"Well, you're not screaming at me. That's an improvement." Sweets smiled.

"Give me time." Hodgins breathed.

"Right, well, I think that we made great progress here. You are healing, Jack."

"I don't feel like I am."

"No, you won't. But I see it, and you get better with each day." Sweets explained. "Sometimes you backslide, and sometimes you feel almost normal. But it does take time, and we'll take as long as you need."

Hodgins remained there, on the couch.

"Jack?" Sweets asked. "Dr. Hodgins?" He looked over at his patient. The man was quiet, his breathing regular.

Sweets stood up, walked toward his patient, and looked down. Hodgins was asleep, his whole body relaxed, his head tilted off to the side. Sweets smiled, his whole set of teeth showing as he went over to his coat closet and retrieved an afghan from a shelf. It was bright orange and blue- something quilted in the 70s, but it was soft and warm. He was rather fond of it despite the coloring, and draped it over Hodgins, who never moved. He knew that Hodgins would never thank him for it. Probably never mention to anyone that he fell asleep then and there, but Sweets knew that sometimes a grown man needed a nap and feel comforted and loved. Even by his psychologist.


	4. Chapter 4

"You've been ignoring me."

Sweets opened his eyes. Hodgins loomed over him, his toes standing by his ears. "I have not. I've been busy."

"I thought you were my psychoanalyst. It's been over a week now."

"I'm not a safety blanket, Jack." Sweets snapped involuntarily. "You know that you can come to me anytime, but I can't let you become overly dependent."

"Bullshit." Hodgins growled back. "Is this some weird therapy I don't know about? As soon as you get some patient to open up to you, you cut all ties from them immediately?"

Sweets remained there, on his back, watching Hodgins trying to pace, to stand still, to not stomp on his ears, to not be his usual jumpy self. "I've had a lot of things going on. My own research projects. Trying to sneak Zach back into a medium security mental hospital prison and blatantly lie to about three prison guards and the warden at one a.m. in the morning. Still trying to convince Angela that I was not, in fact, the reason that you two broke up. Also dealing with Dr. Brennan and Agent Booth's latest 'are we, aren't we?' coyness." He could tell that Hodgins didn't believe him, that his trust issues were kicked into overdrive. Sweets had to remain neutral. Be his normally goofy self.

"You've talked to Angela?" Hodgins gave him an out. His face went neutral, curiousity for his ex taking over.

"Only briefly. She mostly ignores me. She's projecting her anger about you onto me like you did with everyone else. It's normal to have a target, but all it means that she won't let me help her."

"I just. I need to talk." Hodgins said.

"Very good." Sweets smiled. "You want to open up, express your emotions." Jack rolled his eyes. "About what?"

"I want to talk about Zach." Hodgins replied, plopping into a chair.

"No!" Sweets shook his head.

"Seeing him here, work with the case." Hodgins went on, "it helped a lot. Wait... what?"

"Let's not talk about Zach." Sweets breathing hardened, his nose flared. He sat up, away from Hodgins, hiding his body reactions. "How about we talk about something else today. Open season, anything you want but Zach."

Hodgins's mouth scrunched to the side. Something ate at him: his psychologist was off, flakier than usual. Then he realized glumly that he had thought of Sweets as his psychologist and his earlier suspicion disappeared. "Okay, what should we talk about besides Zach?"

"Are you ready for the Parent Discussion yet?" He finally stood, popped his back, and slouched onto his couch.

"Not even when I'm 80, Dude."

"Well, tell me why you're here then."

Hodgins thought for a moment, then started. "Zach said that he felt sorry for me. As crazy as it sounds, it seems like he's settling in well at the Looney Bin. I was afraid, so afraid that he'd end up dead or worse. Even if his hands weren't blown up he'd never last in prison. Now he's even joking with me: 'King of the looney bin.'"

Sweets groaned.

"And who knew that he could escape like he did? He's probably figured out at least three other escape routes as well. AND he got back into the Jeffersonian without detection. Granted, our security system is about as holy as a breached _Macrotermes bellicosus_ mound. I've seen better camera systems at day care centers. And not only did he escape, he knew how to get back in without repercussions. Our Zach is just so damn smart." Hodgins beamed. He wasn't doing therapy. This was boasting.

Sweets scooted up against the leg of his desk and tuned him out. He couldn't help himself. 'Every once in a while,' a professor once told him, 'there will come a time when you just can't listen anymore- your mind will wander, your willpower will drift. A patient will talk and talk and their their psychiatrist won't even be listening.' Sweets smiled at the memory.

"Well, this has been great." Jack finally replied.

Yes!" Sweets replied too loudly. He watched as Hodgins scrutinized him again, looking him for the slightest crack in his oath of confidentiality. "See you next week?" he covered.

"Sure. Maybe we can talk about Angela. She's ignoring me, and it's painful."

"We'll work on it. For now, it seems like you're making peace with your situation with Zach, but there are still things to work out." Sweets replied, ushering Hodgins out of the room and shutt the door. When he was sure that Jack was gone, he emitted another groan. "Holy mother of god," he intoned. "This is hell."

Zach had played him in his own unique way. He was most definitely sane. And innocent. And delusional. And crazy. And guilty. And crazy like a fox. And definitely needed to be in prison. But also had a real case for temporary insanity, or at least post traumatic stress coupled with a high probability of Stockholm Syndrome and a high functioning level of Asperger's.

The fact that he couldn't discern the difference between thought and action. The difference between murder and kill. The bizarre way he was unable to fathom why people had thought of him as a murderer when he had confessed to one verb but not another.

And now he was stuck here, thunking the back of his head against the desk. Bound by patient confidentiality laws. It was one thing for a medical prison doctor to report a confession of wrong doing by a prisoner- that had been legally determined to be permissible but this was about the patient's own healthcare needs. He tried to remember back through their many sessions- the same question over and over said in different ways, his notations that always ended in mobius loops and Alice in Wonderland quotes. He had always used the verb "to kill" and thus Zach responded to it every time the same way. Because he was Zach and could only think in literal terms. It left both of them frustrated and feeling like nothing was being accomplished.

While it seemed like Zach had confessed in such an offhanded matter: a casual statement about the literal interpretation of the others. But the more Sweets thought about it, it felt like Zach was playing him. Zach Addy didn't normally have that kind of sociopathic ability- to play people for his own gain. But Gormagon had changed him to lie, to steal, to plant evidence, and ultimately helping with the murder of someone, even if he was a lobbyist.

Sweets went to lie down on the floor again. It was hard, but it centered him. After an hour of doing nothing, he finally came to a conclusion. He could never trust Zach Addy again.


	5. Chapter 5

Rook's Pawn

This is a massive Chapter. A combination of about three stories I had sort of started and merged into one massive beat down, knock down, drag out session between Hodgins and Sweets. I have no idea where this show is going with Hodgins, but all of the signs point to a hardcore explosive finale for him and I really hope he doesn't end up as plot canon fodder like Zach did. Oh and this is mostly dialogue. I generally hate dialogue-only fics, but this one warrented the need for zero prosaic distractions.

----

"I am trying to get your back on track, Agent Booth. I find your attitude toward me highly unprofessional and-"

"Umm." Booth's face suddenly tensed, looking at a spot above the psychologist's head.

"Doctor Lance Sweets?"

Sweets twirled, angry at the intrusion, then visibly shrank two inches. "Yes?"

"I'm Sheriff Robin Jacobs here to serve you papers." A burly officer handed a manila envelope over.

"Sheriff… The Sheriff? Not the Sheriff's Office" Sweets could hear Booth chortling.

"Yes. You are expected to follow them to the letter." Sheriff Jacobs ordered. "Special Agent. Ma'am." He nodded to the two.

"Doctor, actually." Brennan added as Sweets ripped into the papers.

"Ah, Doctor." He smiled, flashing his teeth. "To the T, Doctor Sweets." He added before leaving.

"So…" Booth finally said as Sweets ran through each page. "What's the news?"

"They're…. gag orders. I'll- be right back." Sweets said offhandedly as he bolted the room. He tracked down the hall lost in the what he was reading as he pushed past people and artifacts. Leaving the building, he tromped across campus, down the cement steps and entered through the security-blocked back entrance. More steps, then a brown hallway, and he pushed into Hodgins's office.

"OUT!" A grey haired man and Jack both ordered simultaneously.

Sweets yipped, jumped back, closing the door lock on his jacket. Pinned to the wall jamb, he pulled, twisted, tried to free himself as he could hear voices emanating from the room.

"Jack, you're being unreasonable."

"Uncle Quentin, I don't care what you think."

"You can't talk to me like-"

"Just because you are the last surviving brother of my grandfather does not make you the head of the family. As I am in fact the direct inheritor of the entire Hodgins Family and the sole beneficiary of the Cantilever Group, I have always been the head of the family and will act as such. Whenever I have children, then they will become the head after me. So you can forget about the extra elocution lessons for your son Frank, because we both know that any money spent on him is a lost cause on all levels. Now you get me that injunction on Zach Addy. You will get me full cooperation from every news agency and kill any and every story about him."

"You don't understand, Jack. We can't just invade Mexico to kill a news story anymore. There's the cable news stations, the newspapers all over the world, the internet-"

"Gag them. Call your contacts in Homeland Security or the NSF or the CIA and you gag, bribe, or shut down all of the mainstream media. Then you call up your boys in R&D and upload out a virus to completely shut down ANY mention of Zach. Don't tell me what is or is not impossible. As head of this family-"

"You're not the head of the family, Jack. You abdicated that-"

"The fact that you're here after I snapped my fingers means that I am. And the next time you even think of coming the Jeffersonian instead of coming to my house at the designated time, then you can say goodbye to your office on the Hill come next election cycle."

"Jack-"

"Let me make this clear. This has nothing to do with my personal feelings or relationship with Zach Addy. Do you really want it to become public that the Hodgins Family was harboring a person just imprisoned in a mental hospital for aiding and abetting a cannibalistic serial killer? You thought Cousin Orville being arrested in Thailand was bad? This, Uncle Quentin, will bring down the Hodgins family brick by brick. Politically and socially.

"If I have to come out of 'self-exile' to perform my god given duties as head of this family, then I will do so. I expect full cooperation from every relation regardless of age, power, or familial status. Not one word breathed, whispered, written, typed, faxed, emailed, blogged, or broadcast On Zach Addy."

"Very well."

The door opened.

Sweets, newly freed, fell back as the man pushed into him.

"How long have you been there?" he demanded.

"Nevermind him, Uncle Quentin. I will deal with him myself," Hodgins ordered.

Quentin looked at Lance once, then took off down the hall.

"Was that?" Sweets asked, entering the room.

"Uncle Quentin Hodgins? The undistinguished Senator of Maryland, chairman of ten committees and member of fifteen more? Yes, that's him. Biggest twit in the world next to his son."

Sweets finally found his tongue. "Dude, that was awesome. Total display of absolute familial power. I thought he was going to kiss your ring before leaving."

"If you Godfather my ass right now, I'll have you exiled to treating cocaine junkies in South Dakota. Why are you here?"

"I got these papers today. They were personally delivered by the sheriff."

"Are they unclear? Do you need to have it elaborated?"

"No, but-"

"Then what?"

"They're gag orders about the Gormogon Case. I can't even discuss it with Booth and Brennan without being arrested."

Hodgins shrugged. "It was deemed necessary. You have a big mouth."

"I wouldn't discuss patient confidentiality with the media. You know me."

"Yes. And you made sure that everyone knew that you went on both Larry King AND TMZ. You were considered a possible leak that needed to be dealt with summarily."

"I can't believe you did all of this. I've never thought of you being so authoritarian."

"I just threw out a seven term Senator from my office no five minutes ago. You think you rate higher than him? I don't need to explain the situation. You have the orders."

"But you don't care about your family's social status. You didn't even care that I did those things."

"Not really. No."

"Then why the iron fist treatment?"

"None of your concern."

"It's because of Zach. You want to protect him. And you want a way to control the situation."

"Now is not a good time. Did you forget the Senator eviction?"

"I want to talk to you about your father. Now's a very good time"

"No."

"You're starting to change. And not for the better. You've become more controlling, more suspicious, and fearful. The Gravedigger reemerging might have been part of it. A large part. But there are still underlying issues for your anger and paranoia."

"You told me my parents didn't matter. That we didn't have to go into them."

"I said that there were more pressing issues in your life than whatever your parents did to you. Obviously, I was wrong."

"No, they haven't. Nothing's changed. I'm still the happy, skippy, chipper, happy go lucky, son of a gun I ever was. You're wrong now. You were wrong then. And you will continue being wrong forever."

"You've backslid." Sweets ignored the baiting. "You were making progress. You were socializing again, making jokes, doing the normal friendly hazing of at least two of the new interns. You even did an experiment."

"Like I said, nothing's changed."

"Then I get word that you expressed a desire to kill someone. A very blunt, direct statement at that. Now you've gone way into overdrive with Zach's privacy."

"The Gravedigger kidnapped one of my friends. He buried me alive. Do you know what that's like? To have to limit your breathing on the hope that you might get an extra fifteen minutes to your life. To be in that much pain with a bottle of fucking acetaminophen as your only relief? Do you know how ironic being buried alive was for me? It'd be like feeding an ichthyologist to a group of guppies."

"You're distraught."

"I'm talking to a psychologist for the FBI. Of course, I'm distraught."

"You also stole evidence."

"Apparently, the Top Men weren't actually working on it. It too had been buried in a very large room with a lot of very small boxes."

"Wasn't the first time either that you tampered with evidence."

"It was buried in my leg by the bumper of a car. I figured I had a valid claim for eminent domain. This is absolute crap. I did what I had to do."

"I have to be honest. You are very close to losing your security clearance, Dr. Hodgins."

"To the Jeffersonian? Please. I could find another security pass card in a box of Sugar Frosted Chocolate Bombs. Do you just not remember me politically threatening my own flesh and blood?"

"Yes. And you've never been one to use your status and influence in such a manner. And the fact that you've mentioned it three times also tells me that you're not used to doing that."

"I don't care."

"I know about the Hodgins Family history."

"Don't waste my time."

"Your father. I've read up about him too."

"The All-American Boy."

"He died when you were young. How old were you?"

"I don't remember."

"Everyone remembers what age their parent dies."

"I do not remember when he died."

"But you were-"

"I do not remember. It doesn't matter if I were six or nine or twelve. His death was inconsequential."

"Part of it was why you were pegged as the Gormogon. You hit all of the profile markers: paranoia, intense obsession over secret societies, your father-"

"Zach's dad is still alive in Minnesota, so I guess we can rule out consistency from a psychopath."

"How did your father die?"

"Heart attack. Defective right ventricle."

"Not something else? Something that might have aggravated such a condition?"

"Coroner's report stated it as such."

"You're the one that just completely censored a very large news story."

"You think I'm hiding something about my father's death?"

"You've concealed far less. Your public association with Zach?"

"You're not exactly a saint either."

"There are reports out there that dictate that there were glaring omissions to your father's results."

"Baseless conspiracy."

"You're calling something as important as the details of your father's death 'baseless conspiracy?'"

"I would know that far more than any one else. I also know that you've been hiding secrets too. Lance."

"Not applicable. I'm bound by doctor-patient confidentiality."

"I know that Zach told you something. The rumor mill has been in overdrive since he returned. I will get it out of you."

"We're not here to talk about me and what I know about Zach."

"So you know something."

"Sorry. I've just recently been gagged."

"Tell me what you know about Zach."

"Tell me about your father and I might think about it."

"You were five years old."

"I don't care about my father!"

"Not even a month in kindergarten when your teacher got the call. Pulled you out of class and sat you in the nurse's office. All of those very tall adults giving you sad looks. Pitying one of the richest boys in America. Not one of them telling you what happened. Keeping something as important as that information from you. You knew something was wrong. That something terrible had happened. But you saw the whispers. That first, great conspiracy. All to keep you from knowing that terrible truth."

"My father's been dead forever. It doesn't matter how he died or when he died. What is it that Zach told you? Booth told me that you were very disturbed getting back into the car. And then you ignored talking about him for months. You just shut down. What did he tell you? That he killed others? That he was what?"

Hodgins looked straight at Sweets.

"He's innocent. He told you that he was innocent somehow. I don't know how or the particulars, but that's it."

"It's-"

"You haven't denied it. What did he tell you?"

"If you don't tell me, I don't know what'll happen."

"He is not guilty, but not in the way you think he is."

"What?"

"He has a mental illness. Far worse than you thought. He's getting the treatment that he really needs, but I cannot truly trust what he tells me whether he fully believes what he says or not. That is what I know. That is what I can tell you. That is why he is in a hospital and not in a prison. I'm sorry."

"Get out."

"Dr. Hodgins. The faster you can accept that Zach well and truly hurt you and betrayed your trust, the better you'll heal."

"Get out of my office. Get out of my building. Get out of my Institute."

"I will keep an eye on you, Dr. Hodgins." Sweets said, his voice low, his hand on the doorknob. "When you want to talk, you have my number. Any time. I mean it."

Leaving, he closed the door behind him, strolled down the hall. He was sweating, his shirt completely damp. His breathing finally evened out as the adrenalin rush dissipated. He was exhausted, hungry, wired. Hodgins was borderlining something and the psychologist couldn't figure it out.

A day. A week. Something would tip him over into absolute uncontrolled chaos and everyone would emerge broken and bloody and changed for the worse.


	6. Deleted Scene

This is a deleted Scene between Sweets and his mentor. I started this back in October and just could not get it the way I wanted (due to a lot of reasons, not just writing). So I'm going to post it anyway as a deleted scene. Hope you enjoy it. As it is, please R/R and constructive criticism is always apprecriated.

The coffee shop was full. Built into a strip mall of government agencies, semi-private think tanks, and massage parlors, the Celtic bakery contained the usual lunch rush of tourists, couriers, and interns snaking along vinyl ropes.

The first scents of fall circulated through customers loitering the outside patio. Their laptops, books, and portfolios spread out atop each table, deepening all horizontal surfaces with several feet of classified information. Inside, a guitar duet wafted richly beneath the heavy din of talking and eating.

Sweets watched the dynamics of the group change and intensify. How the treatment toward strangers grew more negative as more and more pushed through the doors. How cliques formed and reformed as lunch break shifts came and went. It was interesting but a mere distraction borne from habit. He gathered his drinks, plunked the change into a tip jar, and made his way past tables and chairs and elbows. Despite the throng, he knew the back would provide the kind of privacy required.

"One oolong tea with a blueberry honey packet and a touch of organic goat milk." He placed the cup and the condiments down onto the table as the others in the room melted from their corner of the world.

"Excellent. You remembered perfectly," came the reply, "even two years later."

"Hard to forget blueberry honey." Sweets smiled. slowly stirring in the lemon juice to hinder curdling.

Taking out the spoon, he drizzled honey over the bowl, submerging it. The task was tedious as the honey slowly spun out sugar crystals until finally dissipating in a tornado.

His companion watched the process, smile broadening as the cup was presented.

"Is that enough submissive behavior?"

A deep chuckle rumbled towards the young man. "What you did was not, in fact, 'kiss my ass.' You asked me for consultation and advice, and I was highly flattered at the invitation. The overly ornate tea preparation was simply showing that our meeting is not a mere social call. Not that I don't mind being doted upon."

Sweets frowned as he clumped down into a chair, his mochacchino cooling. Sipping the drink, his tongue grew cottony, and realized too late that chocolate was the last thing wanted. "I have a massive issue right now. Three Mile Island sized." His hands pantomiming the length.

"I gathered as such by your voice faltering. The very fact that we are here shows that you have a real humdinger of an issue."

"I have a problem with a patient of mine. After killing someone followed by a case of self mutilation afterward, he was finally committed to a private hospital. Naturally, I asked to be included with his therapy sessions. But now I have no idea how to help him. Zero. For months after his incarceration, I felt like he was playing me. My initial impression was that he had developed the beginning signs of a dissocial personality disorder after being stationed in Iraq. His coworkers claimed that he was incapable of murder: that he had changed after he quickly returned to the States. I never knew him prior to him being in Iraq, but I always felt like something about this entire situation was off." Sweets exhaled.

"So what happened?"

"He confided in me. Finally. After months of being either deliberately or inadvertently obtuse. It's hard to tell with him. I wondered if he had reached a point where he needed to punish himself. But I don't think that he's a danger to himself now"

"If I am not mistaken, you are talking about Doctor Zachary Addy?"

Sweets stilled. "I-I-I"

"Come now, despite the fact that Washington D.C. has over half a million people and its numerous outliers, this is a very, very small town and its populace loves nothing more than to talk. I learned of this situation immediately after Dr. Addy proceeded to decimate his hands.

"It is not that you are incapable of being a good psychologist, but there was some concern that you were too young to deal with the ensuing stress. You are a wunderkind when it comes to research-based psychology: case studies, applied research. But real life and death and all that lies between is so very different. Especially after you developed a personal rapport with your study group. It is very easy for a person in your situation to 'go native' and there are now even more reports that you have become extremely inculcated into their group dynamic."

"I don't understand."

"You are very close to being reassigned."

"Oh." Sweets voice cracked.

"Now then, why are we here?"

"I can't tell you. I can't tell you why I'm here." Sweets started to fidget. He hated it, felt every tic, spasm, and shake that he couldn't control when overstimulated. He sucked on his mocha again. Something to do.

"Can't or won't?"

"I literally am unable to tell you."

"Then why am I here?"

"Because it's a patient confidentiality issue."

"With Dr. Addy?"

Sweets whimpered, his left knee flexing. "I can't tell you."

"This is where youthfulness is a burden." His colleague replied. "You haven't the maturity to handle the pressure of patient confidentiality. You view the oath as something sacred. Black and white. One either keeps it wholly intact or break it and destroy your entire sense of the oath. There is no grey area that only comes with time and experience.

"You forget, however, that when it comes to the incarcerated, there are different guidelines. If a patient confesses a crime to a medical professional, the medical personnel involved is not bound by confidentiality as it has nothing to do with their medical care. You also forget that such circumstances must be conferred with his other doctors- medical and psychological. His healthcare dictates that they be appraised accordingly. How else could they do their job properly?"

"But I can't tell you. It is literally wrapped up with his mental status and patient care. To even go into detail would directly affect his medical care and current situation. You see the problem? He has theoretically set me up as an accessory."

"How long have you known?"

"Almost two weeks. I can't even talk to anyone anymore. Every time I have a session, I just sit there. Dr. Brennan and Agent Booth just sit there. Nothing is accomplished. And Dr. Hodgins? I finally, 'finally' got him to start opening up and now I can't even look him in the eye, and he's backsliding to being angry and bitter. I think that he no longer trusts me as a viable therapist."

"So it is about the mental status of Dr. Addy."

Sweets nodded, his chin against his chest. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Always, my dear boy."

"Did you know him before? Before Iraq? I first met him after he was shipped back. I mean, I've read all of his medical files, I know why he came back. But I don't have a baseline for him before that time." Sweets realized that he was rambling, couldn't stop himself. Knew that the other psychologist would let him talk forever.

"From my impression, he has always been aloof. Some claim that he features classical characteristics for Aspergers or some other social disorder. He always refused to be tested in the past, but has since undergone several assessments. Unfortunately, he is either too smart or too literal to obtain a definitive prognosis. Each independent exam yields completely different results. But before. I mean, the kind of deep bonds that he developed with the others- he wasn't the typical loner archetype despite initial impressions. He was fully involved on a social and professional level, and they fully accepted him as an integral part of their group."

His friend nodded. "Had you yourself noticed a change in his personality? Did you know him at all prior to his involvement with a serial killer."

"I can't tell. Looking back, I want to say 'yes, yes, there was 'a marked difference' between when I first met him and later when he was compromised, but I'd be wrong. I can't ask his friends about it: they would rip my head off and then stonewall further inquiries. To them, they have created this unspoken support network when dealing with the issue of Dr. Addy. He is either omitted from conversations completely or else he becomes this prodigal son prodigy who can do almost no wrong."

"Very droll. So what did he told you that has flustered you so?"

"Now that," Sweets replied, pointing his finger, 'is exactly why I can't tell you."

"So it is something so important that you professionally shut down. Does it have something to do with his murdering someone?"

"No….?"

"Then may I ask you this: can you trust him?"

"What?"

"He has been declared mentally unfit. Do you believe that his statements to you could be construed as factual? I hypothesize that his statements could merely be a facet of his current mental status."

"I... take what he says as valid. On condition."

"No evidence of a psychotic break? No episodes of amnesia or dementia or a delusion where he's not a murderer?"

"Not that I could tell."

"So it's a question of his sanity. Everyone knows that Dr. Addy isn't insane in the traditional sense. That some very rotund strings were pulled by people who should have known better. He will serve out his incarceration, but now the question is where. Aiding and abetting a serial killer, murder in the first degree, tampering with evidence, arson, kidnapping, et al. I believe that the expression is 'Dr. Addy is in deep doodoo.'

"One more thing comes to mind. All of Zach Addy's past issues occurred while working with you- a rising star in the psychological world. Doesn't look too favorably on you, does it?"

"Now that's unfair. I wasn't brought in exclusively to profile a murderer. I was there to continue your work with Agent Booth and Dr. Brennan. Everything else only arose much later."

"But you still went on television to talk about it. Twice."

Sweets grew silent.

"Bit of a ego trip. And then you initially picked the wrong person. Dr. Hodgins, I believe, was your prime suspect."

"He fit the profile perfectly: lost his father young, anger and abandonment issues, MASSIVE paranoia about secret societies. It was a rather logical train of thought. Dr. Addy fit none of the markers."

"And thus you were wrong."

"I was wrong."

"So you finally admit that you are quite human."

"Wait. This was to get me to admit to being human?"

"No. That you are capable of making mistakes. Part of your problem is that you need people to like you. And from that, mistakes are impossible on your part because you feel that you would ultimately be less liked."

"So all of this was this?"

"You know what you need to do in regards to Dr. Addy. Whether what he said was true, it needs to be shared and assessed."

"Oh."

Sweets sat that, let his mocha get cold and filmy, swept it off with a spoon.

"You know what needs to be done. What you need to do."

"Yes." Sweets admitted, full of resolve and youthful determination, "I do," stood up, walked out, leaving without a thought or sentiment.


	7. Chapter 7

The Scars We Weave

The itching would not stop. He fought to ignore it, to distract himself, to pull attention away from it and himself. He was grumpy, covering his true mood. Snapping, biting, cutting people off before they have a chance to ask, to connect. It was more frustrating than anything. His upper bicep still bandaged and swaddled in the topical cream he had found in his pocket with a crumpled list of post tat care. He knew that he couldn't show the tat for at least a year, maybe more. Too many questions, too many emotions.

He could feel the eyes everywhere, the everpresent danger he could never ever shake for as long as he could remember. A birthday here, a sleepy snuggle in front of the fire with popcorn, a party where he could completely lose himself in the sweaty throng of humanity and life and death. The rumors were swirling, he knew. He had heard them all before- an S&M session gone wrong, a cutting session like a 14 year old girl gone wrong, an avant garde deathmetal art and music session gone wrong, Satanic ritual gone wrong.

_Atrophaneura (Pachliopta) aristolochiae_. A birthing project disguised as a gift of forgiveness from the Ents. Even though they were his people, he always distanced himself, afraid that of past pushing to bigger and grander appointments. Forensic science was a dirty, disgusting science that no self respecting person of importance would ever use as a source of esteem and respectability. A set of Asian beauties, he had been hovering over them, caring for their needs and wants. Even though they're considered a bit pedestrian amongst the snooty lepidopterists, he always had a fondness for this species. Even the caterpillars were pretty in their own sluggy, nuggety sort of way. But o deadly. If he could admit it, he saw her in their patterns. But then again, he saw her everywhere.

He had always hid, always denied, pushed himself into long sleeves and jackets and sweaters. It wasn't that he was ashamed of them, but he couldn't bear to share them either. It wasn't shame or remorse or even lingering pain. He just knew that others wouldn't understand. They would stare because they were there. That he was disappear behind the lines of destruction and desecration from a time before he could even remember. To be defined by something that he wasn't.

It was frustrating more than anything. Not that she hadn't already been imprinted on his heart, his psyche. She scarred him more than anything else before. And then once he felt like he could come to terms with it, he'd been whisked away, out twenty miles south of Apache Junction, alone in the Sonoran Dessert. He knew that the tattoo had been a massive ethical and moral and criminal violation. He should feel it that way. Press charges, call up the best plastic surgeon in Rio and make a long weekend of expunging her from his life. But in the end. It didn't bother him. He had woken up in far worse places to far worse things to be bothered by it. It was true artwork- pain and beauty and strife and ugliness all on a living canvas. This was no backroom tattooist who had learned inking to turtle and pirate templates. An artist had marred him.

But the eyes stared at him. She had a big mouth, unable to keep quiet even when proven dead wrong. It was getting around, he recognized the signs, had grown up with them, had been trained to see them.

She was now forever and ever tied to him. A gift disguised as a punishment. Whether she knew of it or not, whether she knew what her father had done. Riding back to the city with a seventy year old hippie in a GMC truck with a trunk full of books, he knew that she had become his. The world had given him one small gift after all.

He needed coffee. To get out of his office, to confront the stares dead on. Whether or not they actually existed. Started to ruminate on something else. Anything else. Started to wonder exactly where Hodgins had ended up after his disappearance. Knew that they would have to discuss it at some point in time.

He had to get out. Away from her. Away from them. To escape back to his old self of self importance and post-teenaged irritability. Heard a rumor about Sweets being a member of a neo-Camoldolese order secluded somewhere south of Palmer Park.

The hallway was dim, quiet, the coffee pot repercolating off in the distance.

He turned the corner and he was there. Waiting.

He needed the coffee to drizzle into the urn faster. Hodgins appeared.

They looked at each other.

"Umm.. right."

"So."

"Well… See you."

"Yup."


	8. Chapter 8

I know that I've not updated in forever. I'm sorry. A- there's been a "lot" going on. First off, I'm working full time. B- I'm trying to write non-fanfiction. C- I starting grad school for forensic genetics in August!! Yes, I'm a busy little Madi. Also, I hated the last season finale so much I've almost given up on Bones. I love it, but it's like that episode just nearly killed me. Plus. I've been dealing with a relative's brain tumor recovery myself for the past three years that it's just something I don't want to be entertained by. So, now you know. I will try to keep this fic going. I won't just let it die by attrition. I promise to actually end it at some point in time. Lord knows that fanfics that just end without ending are horrible.

There's an inalienable fact that Jack has money. And moreso- he knew how to spend it. Not on the showy extravagance of two generations of the nouveau riche, nor on the blue chip/ Second World robber baroning based upon infrastructure building like cell phone towers and satellite dishes. Nor on real estate speculation. Not even on political elections- moving and shaking great men with whispers and PAC donations (plus he was related to enough politicians to forgo buying them).

No, Jack spent his money on pet projects like all of the great families- arts and entertainment, AIDS research, the needy and desperately wanted. Cultural projects solely designed to bring honor and prestige and gratitude for massive amounts of money. And Jack's latest pet project was one Zach Addy.

Zach was in no state-run asylum where every other weekend was Fight Club between inmates and staff, or where Compazine was passed out like Mentos tablets. No. Zach had been transferred to the Minaret Institute. A hospital where even the janitors could send their kids to Ivy League safety schools. Nor was it a glorified drunk tank for the bored children of too much money. Minaret catered to the actual mental needs of the extremely rich. Plus it was also expensive.

To get the legal transfer approved required enough money to jumpstart a certain judge's political career as DC's own representative (if such an event were to actually take place).

"What is this??" Richard tried to take him to task over it. "What is this?? She's not blood, she's not connected, and she has zero social associations! You can't just bring in a judge without telling the family first!"

"Do not tell me how to run this family, Richard," Jack snapped his younger cousin, "You might be handling the mundane affairs- the tea parties, the golfing tournaments, but do not ever forget that you only administrate because I let you. I am the head of the Hodgins family." Jack grew close. "Do not ever question my decisions again."

"Next time, let us know in advance." Richard replied, trying to reclaim his place in the world.

"Us?" Jack echoed, bottling the word from sound. It didn't matter. He had gotten what he wanted. "Whatever," he whined, "Just don't forget: do not confuse need with want." And he flew off, wondering if Richard would ever figure out why he was spending this much on such a nothing. If he even had heard of Zach. If he even cared.

Bribing doctors was an altogether different matter. Sweets was too close to the others. Brunkin was too ethical, Obidiah too stupid. This left Danin: the new pro brought in to rehabilitate Zach. He also conveyed any and all medical files to Jack. For such information, Jack had deposited the deed to a small shack in the Keys in a bank in Bangladesh. It was the least he could do.

And Jack got everything, which amounted to nothing. Notes, observations, margin doodles, medicine changes, misses, moods, theories, diagnoses, general demeanor, weight, visitors, dietary supplements.

Jack was slightly stalking his best friend. With the loss of his Gravedigger notes and evidence, he'd moved onto a new obsession.

But for everything he learned, the less he felt he knew. Sweets especially had become more vague in his charting, his medical transcriptions full of umms and ahhs. Jack finally perceived a dramatic dip in quality and quantity. Even his handwriting started to crimp, ink fading as he pressed less hard on the paper. Then finally growing back to his normal acumen over time.

Jack pursed his lips. He hadn't noticed the change before. He went back to the first frantic days. Sweets's writing looked normal, even for that horrible time- a baseline in writing. Jack compiled all of Sweets's notes on his computer screen, and started looking for abnormalities. He hadn't played the paranoid without picking up a few tricks.

He started see-sawing documents on doubled computer screens. One forwarding in time from the beginning, the other reversing from the present. He couldn't see anything at first. It just looked like the psychiatrist's handwriting. Then it started. Tenuous hesitations, a cobwebbing of bad writing habits with each different entry. Jack checked the dates- starting about Mid-December, then each getting worse, more terse, until about Halloween when regularity bolted up.

Jack thought back to that time. He couldn't remember much about it- too much money lost, family pressures, and way, way, way too much booze and Angela ripping out his heart night after night. There was something else going on. Something had happened that he glassed over. He had pinpointed it down to about a two week timeframe. The economy crashed, there was an election, he had to bail about six cousins and an aunt out of a Baja jail, he continued therapy, he went on a platonic man-date with Booth, Zach helped on a ca-.

Zach escaped.

Hodgins checked the notes, piecing a timeframe from Zach's great escape and when Sweets went all mamby pamby. Looking back, he sort of remembered the doctor even blowing his sessions off. Sweets was hiding something.

And the worst part was that he couldn't confront him. Couldn't go all "j'accuse!" on the guy because then there would have to be explanations, the exposed paper trail, a failed bribery attempt, it getting out that he had committed massive medical fraud. But he realized, that deep down, Sweets was hiding something huge. Something massive. Something about Zach. It had to be. It all revolved around him.

Jack went back to the beginning. Re-read everything, zoned out, read some more. Noted a notation from about May on Zack writing something. May was also a sucky month with Booth being… out.

Forget that. The memory loss, the inability to make good decisions, the hair growing in weirdly, the fact that he couldn't synchronize his hands with his eyes closed. Booth was getting better. Back to Zach.

Hodgins needed to know what Zach was writing about. Wondered why this was the first he'd heard of it. Wondered if Danin needed to remember who he was and who paid his bills. He was going to get Zach's writings, even if he had to walk in and Xerox it himself. No. That's what Danin was for. Jack took out his secondary cell phone and start making calls. Obsession is quite the narcotic when one has the money and influence.


	9. Chapter 9

"So your Cousin Petunia-"

Great Aunt Angie never once got a clue her entire life. Fortunately, she had money enough to support a certain level of stupidity.

Unfortunately, Jack was her favorite nephew and made a point in visiting him weekly come hell, high water, or Republican filibustering. Worse, it had almost gotten to the point where Jack had almost, not quite, for all intents and purposes, NOT developed feelings of affection for the old bat.

It was just that she had no tact at all.

"So, I heard the most awful rumor from Eustace the other day," she sipped into a teacup.

Jack had been hearing about this Eustace woman for almost a decade now and still had zero idea as to who she was. "Mm?"

"Yes," Great Aunt Angie began, picking up another cucumber sandwich. "She was talking about this Grendel character and claimed how our family had been protecting this monster for years. Centuries even. She even implied that we were Masons of all things! Bad enough that your maternal line had the odd Shriner in the wood pile."

Jack threw the bitch out on her ear. Barred the doors, shut down bank accounts, repossessed her Botox. Left her destitute, cold, and dying in a box.

It was a common fantasy that he replayed for every single one of his relations. Just the names changed. It wasn't that he didn't want to be president or a CEO or a diplomat or a general; it was just that he didn't want to be any of those things at all. He wanted to be nothing at all.

But he had finally reached a point where he could almost talk about the past. Eighteen months had dulled the deep emotions.

"Eustace is stupid," He replied.

"I know that you cared deeply for your little buddy," Angie's voice brought him back, "Is he well?"

Jack shrugged.

"He did you good despite everything," she smiled, her forehead crinkling just a little bit. "You were constantly complaining about him. A rather bad habit of yours, by the way, but it was the way you complained. I could tell."

And suddenly Jack had a relative who actually cared about him. And the anger from before iced over.

"He's."

"Yes?"

"My best friend," he conceded, slinking back into his leather chair.

"I'm sorry, Jack."

"For what?"

"My nephew was not the man he should have been."

"I really don't-"

"Let me finish," she waved him quiet. "Your grandfather only learned the patience of a father when he was much older in life. Your father was already an adult by that time, and there was never any closure between the two of them. This doesn't excuse your father's own actions, but… He had been under immense pressure growing up. You experienced quite a bit yourself, but it was worse for him."

Hodgins listened.

He couldn't do anything else. Not one of his relations ever discussed this with him. His grandfather was the type to not. And he had shunned, insulted, or yelled the other relatives away. His mother's side- well, they weren't Hodgins. And the Hodgins clan did not discuss such things.

"You, Jackie, took after your grandfather. And after your great- grandfather even more so. Now there was a sulky hardass."

Hodgins choked.

"I'm seventy-eight years old, Jackie. I don't care much about family politics or morays anymore. Your great-grandmother was a gold digger, and her brother was an anarcho-fascist writer who died in Dresden. But it was a different time. You're both old money and new money. And it's important for you to know the real history of the family." She let it sink in a bit, "Jackie, love, it's time to retire the tea for the day. Do be a dear and break out the Lagavulin. That's a good boy. This is going to be a long story."


End file.
